


An Incorrigible Mentor In Scrubs

by lapsus_calami



Series: An American Werewolf In Scrubs [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Attending Physician Derek Hale, F/M, Gen, M/M, Medical Intern Lydia Martin, Medical Intern Stiles Stilinski, Not really any relationships but I tagged them anyway, nurse allison argent, scrubs au, surgical intern scott mccall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 11:05:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8053873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapsus_calami/pseuds/lapsus_calami
Summary: After two weeks at Sacred Heart Stiles feels like things are starting to settle and it's going pretty great. Of course, that's about the time a patient decides to come along and throw a wrench in the cogs. Dr. Hale is exceedingly unhelpful with the whole thing.





	An Incorrigible Mentor In Scrubs

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, look, there's finally a part two for this thing.

**An Incorrigible Mentor In Scrubs**

The human brain was remarkable. Once a day for nine years when Stiles was a kid he thought he lost his watch because he’d forgotten which wrist it was on. Sometime mid sophomore year Stiles finally managed to figure out that if he kept it consistently on his left wrist he would stop panicking around four in the afternoon thinking he’d lost it somewhere whenever he invariably looked at the wrist it wasn’t on first. In spite of that shining example of intelligence, though, after just two weeks at Sacred Heart all the little things that once scared Stiles became second nature.

Catheters, chest tubes, IVs…Stiles could place them all like a pro now. He’d left his fear of sticking needles in living people far, far behind him. Which was a relief when one considered he was trying to make a career out of this whole doctor thing. It was strange to think he could become so settled in the hospital in such a short amount of time, but Sacred Heart thrived on routine. Where someone from the outside might only view chaos, from the inside there was a fundamental pattern. And once Stiles figured that out, everything else just fell into place.

Everything started to click.

He was even comfortable enough now that he was listening to his iPod while placing an IV in the arm of an unconscious man. It helped him focus, to block out the constant activity of the hospital around him, and it was always interesting to see how the activity of the hospital seemed to align with the beat of the music from the hustle and bustle of the nurses’ station to the fluttering sheets of beds being made.

The only unfortunate side effect was that it also made Stiles an easy target for people to sneak up on him. In just today three different nurses, one orderly, and the janitor on six separate occasions had scared the living daylights out of him.

Sensing a presence behind him Stiles swiveled on his stool a little surprised to see Dr. Argent standing over him looking thunderous and mouth moving like a silent movie almost like he was singing along with the song. If Stiles let his imagination wander away just a bit it even seemed like Argent’s mouth was forming the correct words. Argent’s brows furrowed deeper, and Stiles yanked the earbuds out so he could hear whatever Argent was yelling about.

“Are you?” Dr. Argent practically growled sounding like he’d already said those very words multiple times. “Because if you have time to listen to music, then I assume you have time to finish your paperwork!”

Stiles swallowed not bothering to respond as he slipped from the room, escaping from Argent’s glare of doom and flying spit the man had a tendency to project when he was angry. That was one thing that hadn’t improved. In the last two weeks Dr. Argent had only gotten more terrifying while Dr. Hale had mellowed ever so very, _very_ slightly.

Stiles looped the headphones around his neck with his stethoscope as he headed to the nurses’ station. Scooping up his charts he gave the first a cursory glance, distracted by the janitor balanced atop a ladder changing a light bulb. Or rather he should be changing the light bulb; instead he was staring rather blatantly at Stiles, which was beginning to make Stiles more than a little uncomfortable.

“How’s it going?” he asked after a moment shuffling through his charts. He was raised to be polite after all, and eye contact was a universal indicator to begin a conversation. Even if the crazy haired, crazy eyed janitor kind of scared the shit out of him.

The janitor harrumphed as if Stiles was somehow interrupting him. “I’m thirty-seven years old, and I’m a janitor. How do you think it’s going?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a janitor,” Stiles mumbled reflexively making a few notations on his forms.

“Oh! Really?” the janitor asked mock sincere. “Thank you. You…you’ve turned my life around. I’m gonna have to go tell my janitor wife and janitor kids that the world is worth enduring. And that comes straight from our hero, Dr. Whatshisname. Dr. Bilinski. I mean, my god, you’re wonderful. You’ve saved my soul from eternal damnation.”

Stiles rolled his eyes snapping his charts closed and gathering them up to head somewhere quieter. Something else he’d learned in the last two weeks was to just walk away from the janitor whenever he went weird which was _always_.

“No!” the janitor called from behind. “Seriously. Come on. You can come over to my humble house and point out things that are cheap!”

* * *

“Your dog is creepy. You do realize that, right?” Lydia said eyeing the taxidermy animal with a level of distaste she usually reserved for the angriest of patients or incompetent interns. Although she and Stiles had gotten off to a rocky start, what with their planned date and subsequent cancellation and animosity, they actually got along pretty well. Perhaps it was because Stiles was one of the few medical interns unfazed by Lydia’s domineering attitude, or because Lydia was one of the few medical interns who could keep up with Stiles’ random and sometimes irrational leaps in logic. Whatever it was, the two of them stuck primarily with each other.

Stiles frowned, mostly for show but also a little offended. He leaned over to pat the Labrador’s head. “Aw, be nice to Lupin. The guy we, uh, acquired him from used to keep him in a box full of hats.”

The true story of Lupin may or may not include a potential breaking and entering of an old guy’s garage because Stiles, and subsequently Scott, had been moderately convinced the man was a serial killer from Texas. Stiles’ theory had been swiftly disproven—the man was simply a bit of an old coot—but they’d still rescued Lupin from a grimy box in the corner of a musty garage three days from imminent collapse. For all that Mr. Chesterfield had grouched about people disturbing his lawn and stealing his garden gnomes, he apparently never realized Lupin had been liberated.

Lydia’s scowl deepened. “Ew,” she said tossing the dog one last look of revulsion before disappearing into the bathroom.

“Okay,” Scott said immediately leaning forward and whispering so Lydia wouldn’t hear him. She had surprisingly sharp ears for a human. “Dude, why is she here all the time?”

Stiles rolled his eyes scooping the stuffed dog up and crossing the room to set him outside the bathroom door, arranged for optimal surprise whenever Lydia exited. “Just give her a chance, man,” he said reconsidering and nudging Lupin back about three inches before deciding it was good.

Scott narrowed his eyes glancing from Stiles to the bathroom door. “Oh, I see,” he said sitting back with a smile. “You have a crush.”

“What?” Stiles asked concentration on waiting for Lydia to open the door suitably broken. “No, I don’t.”

Scott snorted taking a deep gulp of his soda. “Sure.”

Stiles flopped back onto the couch punching Scott lightly in the arm. “No, really. I just happen to think it’s healthy hanging out with a girl without the ultimate goal being, you know, sex. We can be…just friends.”

“Stiles, you’ve slept with ninety percent of the people you consider friends,” Scott said features settling into an uncharacteristic expression of seriousness. “In fact, the only friend you haven’t at least made out with is me. You do realize that, right?”

“That is so not the point,” Stiles said stiffly.

“Yeah, right,” Scott said. “So you _don’t_ want to sleep with her?”

Stiles’ response—another vehement denial—was lost in Lydia’s shriek and subsequent growl of anger as she danced around the dog with a muttered, “Creepy.” Two weeks of hanging out with Stiles, though, had taught her bringing the prank up was a pointless endeavor. “So, I had a run in with that nurse yesterday,” she said instead, dominating the conversation easily as she reclaimed her seat on their single chair. “Uh, whatshername, Allison. She forgot to check out the stats on a patient and then gave me attitude about it.”

“Did you tell on her or something?” Stiles asked because Allison was the last person to give anyone attitude unprovoked, but she and Lydia did have a pretty rocky relationship. Stiles wasn’t sure what it was exactly, except both girls were used to being on the top of their respective groups. If anyone would get unprovoked attitude from Allison it would be Lydia.

Lydia pursed her lips. “You know,” she said one finger raised contemplatively. “I can’t remember. And why would you assume that I provoked her?”

It’d be a good point if Lydia wasn’t easily one of the most competitive people at the hospital. She didn’t seem to be able to help herself. If there was a challenge then she was on top of it in every sense of the word. And, to Lydia, the entire hospital was a challenge to be conquered. And conquer it she did. Or, at least, she tried her very best.

Stiles shrugged and muttered his answer into his drink, “Because you’re you, that’s why.”

Lydia’s answering glower told him she’d heard it all too well anyway.

* * *

Even though they both had their own failings, in comparison to Lydia, Stiles was doing better dealing with all the new people. Which was kind of a weird experience for him having been filling the role of awkward newcomer that others found irritating and bizarre for most of his life. But Stiles was clicking pretty well with his coworkers at the hospital. Allison, for instance, was fast becoming his second favorite person at the hospital while slot number one continued to be filled by Scott. Even if she called him Bambi all the time she was remarkably helpful and the two of them got along splendidly if Stiles did say so himself. Slot three was a toss up between Dr. Hale and Lydia while slot four was grudgingly awarded to Danny, another intern who came off as perhaps the most genuinely personable person on the planet.

“Hey, Bambi,” Allison said adjusting the blankets over their patient. Stiles raised an eyebrow at her, silently prompting for whatever was going to follow that opening. “That bossy redhead you hang out with? Tell her qu’elle mieux être prudent ou je vais abattre sur cette jolie tête rouge.”

Stiles frowned trying to puzzle through that even though he’d taken Spanish in high school, and the only French he’d learned came from the two seasons of one show he’d watched four years ago during his foreign film binge. Ninety nine percent of it flew right over his head, but he was rather sure he caught the words careful and pretty. “You might need to write that down for me,” he said finally.

Allison narrowed her eyes at him, but Dr. Hale striding into the room saved Stiles from any retort. Being that it was Dr. Hale perhaps “saved” was the wrong word. Regardless, Stiles actually thought he and Dr. Hale were getting along quite well. On average Stiles had decreased the amount of glares he received per day from about six hundred thirty-seven to the much smaller six hundred eleven. Stiles kind of liked to think of himself as Dr. Hale’s protégé.

Dr. Hale sniffed and held out an expectant hand, “I need to see his chart—”

“Done,” Stiles said proudly. “Copied and highlighted.”

Dr. Hale blinked. He didn’t much agree all that much with Stiles’ protégé theory. “Unfortunately, Sparky, I’m all out of gold stars,” he said dryly. He paused skimming through the chart. “Multilobar pneumonia at thirty one? How much does this guy smoke?”

Stiles frowned, stomach plummeting as he realized he had no idea. “Um…”

“You know it’s your attention to detail that impresses me most,” Dr. Hale said before dismissing Stiles completely and turning to the patient. “How many packs?”

The patient, a likable guy by the name of Will, shrugged. “Half a pack.”

Dr. Hale shook his head. “I’ll rephrase and you won’t lie this time. How many packs a day really?”

“Eleven,” Will said smirking. “Ha, see, now you don’t know where I’m coming from.”

Dr. Hale crossed his arms settling into his Don’t Fuck With Me stance and raising one bushy dark eyebrow.

Will sighed. “Okay. Two or three packs. On average.”

Satisfied Dr. Hale gave a short nod and turned to look expectantly at Stiles. “Well, let’s hear it.”

“Oh,” Stiles said with an exaggerated blink, “I don’t smoke. So, uh, zero packs?”

Allison elbowed him as Dr. Hale scowled. “What tests have you ordered?” she whispered.

“Oh,” Stiles repeated, brain shorting out over the simplest words. It was a recurrent problem when talking to Dr. Hale, and Stiles had yet to figure out if it was because of the older man’s unfair levels of attractiveness or the fact that Dr. Hale generally still acted like he wanted to rip Stiles’ throat out with his teeth in a way that was decidedly unsexy. “Uh, right. Of course. Um, I knew that. I was just…totally kidding.”

Will grinned and nodded encouragingly, jumping easily on the train with Stiles and selling it. “He was,” Will said looking at Dr. Hale and apparently impervious to the venomous glare he received. “We were all in on it.”

Stiles sent him a thankful smile. He liked Will. A lot. In many ways the man reminded him of Scott, which made the news he had to give so much harder to say. “I, uh, ordered blood cultures and a high resolution CT.”

Will blinked, grin slipping off his face no doubt in response to the solemnity in Stiles’ tone. He glanced between them. “What are you looking for?”

Stiles opened his mouth but couldn’t quite get the word out. Dr. Hale sighed, more than accustomed to giving bad news. “Cancer,” he said. “We’re looking for cancer.”

Stiles swallowed roughly waiting for the inevitable reaction. In his experience when a doctor said the word “cancer” every person reacted the same way.

“Awesome,” Will said shooting them a grin and a thumbs up.

Yeah, no, that wasn’t it.

After a moment the grin faded away and Will dropped his arm down, something akin to grief overtaking his features as he fell back against his pillows to stare that the ceiling.

That expression of resignation before a person even knew for sure; the knowledge of what could potentially await them in the future all based on the results of one test.

That was it.

* * *

Giving bad news was another one of the few things that two weeks hadn’t made any easier. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was just the fact that in two weeks time he hadn’t actually given that many patients terrible news, or if it was something that would never get any easier. His money, what little he had, was on the latter. Something about telling a person they were potentially very sick and dying never got any easier and tended to knock him off center for the rest of his day.

“So,” Stiles started picking at the food he didn’t have much of an appetite for today, “how’s surgery?”

He never really knew what to say to Scott’s stupid surgery buddies, but he was getting better at that too. In the loosest definition of the word.

Jackson scowled at him. “Fantastic,” he drawled in that tone that indicated he’d rather Stiles never speak again. “As always.”

Stiles nodded and pushed a piece of pasta around his plate. “Glad to hear.”

“Hey, Bambi,” Allison called pausing by their table, a tray of her own lunch clasped in front of her. “What are you doing slumming over here with these scalpel jocks?”

Scott jerked up in his seat, a dopey smile immediately plastering itself over his face. “Because this is the VIP table,” he said trying to sound way cooler than he was. It reminded Stiles of sophomore year of high school. Back when they were both still too geeky for their own good before Scott had gotten bit by a werewolf and turned their lives upside down. “Hey, why don’t you join us?”

Allison rolled her eyes, suitably unimpressed and gave Stiles one last raised eyebrow look that judged his life choices before heading to her usual table with a few of the other nurses. Stiles in turn arched one eyebrow at Scott who was beginning to look like a kicked puppy. “This is the VIP table?” Stiles repeated mockingly. “Why don’t you grow a pair and just ask her out?”

“Maybe I’m not really interested in her,” Scott muttered and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Please. I haven’t seen you this puppy-eyed over someone since Kira senior year of high school.”

“If you’re not interested,” Jackson said reclining back in his chair with a Cheshire grin that raised Stiles’ hackles. “Then maybe I’ll show her some love.”

Scott scowled, crossing his arms and slouching as Jackson chuckled and tossed a fry in his mouth. Not interested, Stiles’ ass. Scott was positively smitten.

“Okay, maybe, _maybe_ , I’m thinking of asking Allison out,” Scott admitted sullenly before turning his big brown eyes on Stiles. “What do you think?”

“I think the janitor is out to get me,” Stiles replied referring, of course, to the crazy-haired man who’d just entered the cafeteria. Less than one second and the man was all out glaring at Stiles looking like he’d love nothing more than to snap Stiles in half like a twig. He occupied the spot for least favorite person at the hospital tied squarely with Jackson.

“Wow, Stiles, that was really helpful,” Scott said.

“Yeah,” Jackson sneered. “Why don’t you be just a little more paranoid?”

Stiles scoffed gathering up his tray to leave since it looked like the janitor was settling in for the long haul. “Look, Scotty,” he said as he stood. Best friend solidarity meant he had to offer Scott some sort of genuine advice here. “Just grow a pair and ask the woman. Don’t bother with the puppy-eyes though. I think she’s immune.”

* * *

Stiles strode down the hallway reviewing Will’s test results with mixed feelings. On one hand he was pleased as punch to see no indications of cancer. On the other, Will was definitely headed down a dark road if he kept up his less than savory habits. It was like his dad and bacon all over again.

Catching sight of Dr. Hale up ahead, Stiles flipped the file shut and jogged to catch up with the other man. “Dr. Hale! Um, I got Will’s CT results back. There’s no cancer. So, uh, what should I tell him?”

Dr. Hale gave him derisive look that clearly weighed his intelligence and found it lacking. “I’d open with that,” he said. “No cancer is pretty good news.”

“Right,” Stiles agreed. “Of course. It’s just he’s headed down such a bad road. I thought maybe you and I could talk to him.”

“You do what ever you want,” Dr. Hale said with a disinterested shrug. Stiles figured it that in Halespeak it meant something along the lines of, _Good idea!_ “I’m just happy you haven’t messed up today,” Dr. Hale continued, which maybe translated into, _You’re really coming along as a doctor._

Stiles grinned clapping Dr. Hale on the shoulder.

The attending scowled, swiping Stiles’ hand off his coat. “Don’t ever touch me.” That, of course, meant, _Don’t ever touch him_.

“Thought we were having a moment,” Stiles muttered as Dr. Hale walked away, interrupted from his thoughts by the dinging of the arriving elevator. Which was convenient since he did actually need to go up a floor. He stepped on offering a brief smile to Lydia and pressing the button for Will’s floor.

“Allison’s pissed at me. Still, ” Lydia said after a moment of silence. Stiles couldn’t say he was surprised, though Lydia bringing it up in an elevator at work was slightly unexpected.

“She gave me a message for you,” he said in lieu of an actual response. Lydia narrowed her eyes. “I’d give it to you, but it was mostly in French,” Stiles continued. “I don’t speak French.”

Lydia huffed, running a hand through her hair. “Of course you don’t.”

“Do _you_?”

Lydia sniffed and squared her shoulders. “Not fluently, but I’m conversational.”

“You should apologize,” Stiles said. “Maybe even in French.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he said as the doors slid open, reaching back to grab Lydia’s hand and drag her along. She came willingly enough though it was probably because Stiles managed to catch her off guard. “It’ll show you're the bigger person. Plus, you were totally in the wrong.”

“No,” Lydia protested. “Stiles, no. I don’t want to, and no I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you do,” Stiles said ignoring the second half flat out. “Somewhere deep down inside there’s a nice person just clamoring for a chance to apologize.” He gave her one last shove so she was standing directly in front of Allison at the nurse’s station. “So, you’re welcome.”

Lydia scowled at him, but obligingly composed herself and cleared her throat. Allison looked up from her computer work, raising one questioning eyebrow. “Allison,” Lydia started briskly. “I shouldn’t have told Dr. Argent on you.”

Stiles had to hand it to her; she knew how to cut to the core of an issue.

“No,” Allison agreed after a moment of bated breath, “you shouldn’t have. But thank you for apologizing.”

“Okay!” Stiles declared clapping his hands together and deciding he should separate the two of them before anything else untoward occurred. “Good. We’re all good now, right? Lydia, don’t you have people to see?”

“I just want to make one thing clear,” Lydia said and Stiles just barely refrained from facepalming right there in the middle of the hallway.

“No,” he protested. “See, nothing needs to be clear. Murky is just fine.”

“I still think you were in the wrong,” Lydia said either not hearing, or more likely flat out ignoring Stiles’ words. “Checking for the stats is your job. I was wrong to throw you under the bus with Dr. Argent, but I need to know that you’re going to do your job.”

“I do my job,” Allison said coldly. “And I’m damn good at it. Why don’t you worry less about other people, and more about doing _your_ job?” She gathered her files and stalked away with one last glare at Lydia.

Stiles sighed loudly and Lydia rounded on him. “What is your problem?”

“Nothing,” Stiles said giving it up as a lost cause for the moment. “Absolutely nothing. I, ah, I’ve got to give a patient some good news,” he continued holding Will’s file up in demonstration. “I’ll see you around. You know, as long as Allison doesn't murder you.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Go away. Before _I_ murder you.”

Stiles didn’t need to be told twice slipping off to Will’s room with a sigh of relief. Nothing, literally nothing, would ever be as confusing as women could be. Will glanced up as he entered, offering Stiles a blinding grin.

“Doc,” he said. “What’s the word?”

“Well,” Stiles started, “as of now, you have no signs of cancer.”

Will’s grin broadened. “Woo!” he exclaimed punching the air. “Who rules? That’s right, Will rules!”

“Will,” Stiles said over him, raising his voice a little to be heard. “Buddy, it’s really important you realize this isn’t great news.”

Will arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you sure? ‘Cause, that’s how it first hit me. You know, greatly.”

“But you are on such a slippery slope,” Stiles said letting the tight and earnest feeling in his chest fuel his words. “You gotta stop smoking, man, or things are going to end very badly for you.”

Will settled a bit at that, expression growing a little more serious as Stiles went through his practically memorized spiel about smoking and the increased risks of health problems. Stiles didn’t mince any words, didn't sugar coat it. He had to scare Will; that was the only way he’d stop smoking. But as Stiles continued talking and Will’s expression only slipped towards blank boredom rather than comprehension, Stiles had a feeling Will had heard it all before. Luckily, Stiles was known for his improvisation and he’d brought along a back up plan.

“So, the one thing I want you to think about right now,” he said drawing the electrolarynx he’d borrowed from his pocket and placing it at the base of his throat, “is how would you like to sound like this?”

Will’s eyes lit up, amused rather than disturbed it seemed, by the tinny, robot quality to Stiles’ voice. “Can I see that?” Stiles handed the electrolarynx over watching as Will placed it to his throat and grinned. “This is so cool!”

“No,” Stiles said with a scowl. “No. It’s not.”

“Bwiddy-bwiddy-bwiddy. Okay, doc!” Will said still with the electrolarynx making him sound like some cartoon character.

“It’s not a toy,” Stiles said grabbing it from Will’s hand, irritated but also distracted in spite of himself. He regarded the electrolarynx a moment, trying to remind himself that this was a very serious moment here. Then he held it to his throat. “Would you like to play a game?”

Will laughed and Stiles couldn’t help but join in, lighten the already light mood. Sometimes all a doctor had was old words, and all he could do is put them together and hope they said something new. After a few more jokes between the two of them Stiles slipped the electrolarynx back in his pocket. Will sighed as Stiles settled back into his more somber role as the doctor.

“Look, man, you’re a great patient,” Stiles said honestly. “Really. Like, you haven’t screamed at me once or called me names. I like you enough to hope I never see you again. But I promise you, if you keep smoking, you’ll be right back here. I’d bet my own life on that.”

Will blew out a long breath and scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Well, okay then,” he said after a moment, “I guess that’s no more cigarettes for me.”

* * *

“Dr. Martin to room four oh two. Then down to two oh one. Then back up to room four oh three. That’s Dr. Martin to rooms four oh two, two oh one, and four oh three.”

Stiles frowned chewing on the cap to his pen as Lydia rushed by looking at her watch. Once she was past Allison and some of the other nurses burst into giggles, smothering most of their laughter behind hands but hiding absolutely none of the evidence. Stiles shook his head and Allison caught his eye.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Stiles said. “Just…if you really wanted to be mean you should have paged her to the maternity ward.”

Allison sniffed and hid a small smile but otherwise didn’t reply as she turned back to her work. Stiles looked up as he caught Scott’s familiar voice mumbling something about being nervous. He and Jackson were coming up the hall Scott continuously wiping his hands against his pants. Given their estimated trajectory Stiles figured the source of nerves was Allison herself.

“Seriously,” Scott said sounding a little strained. “Why am I nervous?”

“Don't worry,” Jackson said clapping Scott on the shoulder. “I’m your wingman. I won’t leave your side. Hey, Ali.”

“Keep moving, frat boy,” Allison returned curtly. Jackson blinked then gave Scott another pat on the shoulder.

“Sorry, Scotty. Catch you later.”

Then he was gone and Scott was left alone looking like he was about to be eaten by a killer whale.

“Well, come on,” Allison said giving Scott the universal motion for _hurry it the hell up_. “Out with it.”

“Uh,” Scott said. Allison raised an eyebrow. “Don't rush me!” Scott pleaded blushing furiously. “Uh, I mean, um, uh.”

Allison rolled her eyes gathering up an armful of files. “Okay. Well, I have to work so when you can speak coherently maybe you can actually talk to me,” she said before flouncing off with a toss of her gorgeous hair.

“Dude,” Stiles said as Scott stared after her with a forlorn puppy look. “What the hell was that?”

Scott groaned collapsing against the counter. “I don’t know,” he moaned pathetically. “It’s just…whenever she’s around my head goes all funny and all the words just…fly away.”

Stiles blinked. He knew the feeling all to well himself. “You’re ridiculous,” he said anyway, and Scott nodded.

“I know.”

* * *

“Dr. Hale!” Stiles called breathlessly racing down the hallway towards the attending. “Dr. Hale, I’m sorry, I know I’m being annoying, but I think I’m really getting used to talking to patients. I mean, this is why I became a doctor, right? Right. So—”

Dr. Hale frowned. “I heard _I know I’m being annoying_ then…white noise,” he said splaying his hands out.

“Will,” Stiles barreled on proudly almost incapable of holding in his excitement. “The pneumonia patient? I got him to quit smoking.”

“Really?” Dr. Hale said finally looking a little interested.

Stiles nodded with a wide grin. “Yeah. Me! Can you believe that?”

“No Last One?” Dr. Hale asked sniffing the air with a puzzled look before beginning to move down the hallway. “Because Last Ones are better than sex, I hear.”

“Nope,” Stiles said unable to keep the grin off his face as he trailed after the older man. “Done forever. He swore to me.”

Dr. Hale quirked one brow then turned towards the door to the stairwell they were now standing before. Reaching out he pushed it open with a flourish seeming not at all surprised at what lay beyond. Stiles, on the other hand, was very shocked. It seemed Will, standing there in his hospital gown with a lit cigarette between his fingers, was too.

“Yeah, you’re having a big day there, Newbie,” Dr. Hale said dryly while Stiles tried to get his mouth to close or at least spit out some words. Will looked equally speechless. Dr. Hale let the door fall shut again, turning to level Stiles with a look that bordered on contempt. “Don’t be so surprised, Stiles. People lie, patients most of all.”

* * *

After a solid hour or so of ruminating over Dr. Hale’s words of wisdom, Stiles reached one important conclusion. Okay, two, two important conclusions. Or three. Whatever. One, Dr. Hale was a heartless bastard. Two, Stiles wasn’t ready to give up on people and that included Will. And, three, Dr. Hale wasn’t as heartless as Dr. Hale thought he was. He just needed Stiles to remind him of that fact. Which is why Stiles was seeking him out right now and finding him lounging on the couch in the break room.

“Dr. Hale,” he started without preamble, “about Will—”

“Not now,” Dr. Hale said with a sigh. “I’m on my ten-minute break and my soap is on.”

Stiles blinked, taking two seconds to marvel over the fact that Dr. Hale watched a soap opera, and yeah, he couldn’t let that one go. He glanced at the television a bit surprised to realize he actually recognized the show. “You watch _Explosión Gigantesca de Romance_?”

“I spend ninety-four percent of my time at the hospital,” Dr. Hale replied matter-of-factly. “There’s not much else to watch. And, kid, if you change this channel I will suture your hands together.”

Jared, sat at the table behind Dr. Hale and who’d been about to press the channel button, quickly set the remote aside without touching anything.

“But it’s in Spanish,” Stiles said, still stuck on the soap thing. “Do you even speak Spanish?”

Dr. Hale arched a condescending eyebrow as he finally looked at Stiles. “¿Tu no?”

“Well, sure, I do,” Stiles said flicking his gaze to the television where a UPS man appeared to be making the moves on a hot brunette lady. “But I really don’t think…you know what? Nevermind. I’m here about Will.”

“I don’t know who this UPS man is,” Dr. Hale said, “but his Spanish is terrible. And is that supposed to be bad flirting or—”

Stiles swallowed, summoning all his formidable courage, and crossed the room to flick the television off. “I need to know how we’re going to fix this thing with Will,” he said leveling Dr. Hale with a hard look.

Dr. Hale blinked seeming suitably shocked though he hid it well then shook his head. “Do you know what you just did? You’ve lost all lap-dog privileges.”

“Excuse me?”

“No more walks, no more treats, no more following me around the hospital,” Hale listed.

Stiles flushed. “I'm not your lap-dog.”

“Annoying kid behind me,” Dr. Hale said, “what do we do with lap-dogs who can’t behave in the house?”

“Uh,” Jared squeaked. “Leave them outside?”

“Right. Now,” Dr. Hale said talking again to Stiles and beginning to roll up the papers in his hands with quick, deft movements. “You have five seconds to get out of this room before I start beating you in the face with this roll of papers.”

Stiles swallowed and laughed nervously.

“I’m not joking,” Dr. Hale said. “Get out.”

“Look,” Stiles said standing his ground. “I was just thinking—”

“Out,” Hale repeated loudly throwing the papers in Stiles direction. Stiles quickly ducked from the room, pausing just outside the door. Dr. Hale sighed, collapsing back against he couch before holding out a hand for Jared to give him the remote. “What do you want to watch then?” he asked.

“Um, _Explosión Gigantesca de Romance_?” Jared said timidly.

Dr. Hale sniffed and settled deeper into the cushions. “That’s right.”

* * *

“What’s up, Bambi?” Allison asked. “You’re all…unsmiley, which isn’t like you.”

“Patient stuff,” Stiles said giving himself a mental shake and offering her a small smile. It didn’t seem necessary to drag her and Scott into his doubts and misgivings over Will. “And I can’t figure out why Dr. Hale tore me a new one earlier.”

“Oh, enough already, man,” Scott said interrupting whatever Allison was about to say. Stiles was mildly impressed he managed to string the words together coherently in her presence, but he wasn’t talking directly to Allison so maybe that was it. “He’s a jerk.”

“Scott’s right,” Lydia said from the other end of the station which earned her a dirty look from Allison that she deliberately ignored. “He’s a jerk.”

“He’s just Dr. Hale,” Allison said giving the two of them pointed looks, and Stiles appreciated her alternative point of view. “He’s always like that.”

“Well, who really knows him?” Stiles asked leaning against the counter and ignoring Scott’s and Lydia’s unhelpful statements for Allison’s generally more useful advice. If anyone in the hospital knew anything personal about Dr. Hale it would be Allison who was typically accepted as the only person Dr. Hale even remotely tolerated. “I mean who does he hang out with around here?”

Allison snorted sorting through papers on the desk. “No one. He’s kind of a lone wolf.”

“That must be lonely,” Stiles commented and Allison shrugged peering intently at one of the prescriptions she was checking.

“Take two Scotts as necessary and apply to sensitive areas,” she read with a puzzled frown. “Who wrote this?” She turned to pin Scott, who wilted under her gaze, with an inquisitive glare.

“Don’t look at me,” he protested and Stiles hid a snicker behind a fake cough. “I didn’t write anything.” It took a moment but Scott eventually figured it out turning a disbelieving stare to Stiles. “Dude! I said no interfering.”

Stiles shrugged unashamedly ducking away as Allison reached over the counter to smack him. “Well, you weren’t doing anything. Go on, Allison. Give us one reason why you won’t go out with him.”

Allison quirked a brow then pulled in a deep breath that made Scott cower under the promise of a litany of reasons. “You mean aside from the fact that he has yet to actually ask me? He’s a surgeon. He’s got that god-complex, cockiness, married to the job thing going on. He’s cute, but so very aware of it. He has no idea what I’m like because he has yet to actually talk to me so all his feelings for me are coming from below the belt. But most of all, I’m looking for the real thing and he’s nothing but a little boy who’s not used to being told no. So there’s a bunch of reasons. Pick your favorite,” she said picking up the prescriptions, minus the one Stiles wrote, and walking away.

Scott watched after her sadly.

“I’d pick the god-complex,” Stiles said after a moment. “Makes you seem other-worldly.”

Scott scowled at him.

“But it’s so hard to choose,” Stiles continued. “They’re all so good.”

“I hate you,” Scott muttered.

Stiles patted him on the arm. “I know you do, buddy.”

* * *

Stiles took a deep breath flexing his hand around the six-pack of beer he was holding and trying to make himself not feel as intimidated as he did by the plain door of the apartment. Although, the fact that the apartment beyond belonged to one Dr. Derek Hale made it far from innocuous so perhaps some intimidation was in order. Taking another deep breath Stiles reached up and knocked, a smart three raps on the wood. Not one second later Dr. Hale was pulling it open. If he was surprised to see Stiles he didn’t show it, simply raising one questioning eyebrow in greeting.

“I know that watching Will slowly kill himself hurts you too,” Stiles said a little rushed, trying to move through his speech as fast as possible so he didn’t lose his nerve. “That’s even harder if you don’t have anyone to talk about it with, right? So when I got off work, I figured, you know, I was gonna pick up a few cold ones, right, and then maybe you and I, well, we’ll talk it out, we’ll just break down the whole thing, right? Uh, what, what do you say to that?”

And, all right, maybe the whole thing could have gone smoother, but Stiles was kind of shaking from adrenaline and the fact that he was standing outside Dr. Hale’s _apartment_ despite Allison’s warning to not do anything stupid when Stiles acquired some personal files with home addresses.

Without a word, Dr. Hale slammed the door shut. Stiles bit off a cry of surprise as it hit his knee with far more force than a door should rightly possess even if it was being slammed by a man with muscles that rivaled Dwayne Johnson's. Stiles wasn’t even sure how it managed to hit him, except he did have a tendency to move when he talked and probably drifted halfway through the doorway sometime in his speech.

Clutching his knee Stiles tried valiantly to maintain his balance, but eventually failed in that too, tumbling to the floor with a dejected declaration of, “Ow.”

The door opened once more and Dr. Hale sighed heavily at Stiles. He rolled his eyes, casting his gaze heavenward for a moment as if asking for divine patience then scowled down at Stiles. “Come on,” he said grasping Stiles' arm to haul him bodily from the floor.

Stiles helped as much as he could, hopping on one leg and wincing as his arm smarted from when he tried to break his fall. Dr. Hale deposited him on the uncomfortable looking couch with a grim expression of disappointment, crouching in front of him to look critically at Stiles’ knee.

“I’ll get an ice pack,” he grunted after a moment, moving from the living room towards what Stiles assumed was the kitchen. Stiles took the few seconds he was alone to really look around the room. It was decorated with muted gray tones and a bit more modern than Stiles would have expected. Classy, yet impersonal.

Stiles propped his foot on the coffee table, carefully prodding around his knee enough to determine there probably wasn’t any serious damage, just some mild swelling. Dr. Hale strode back in shaking an ice pack in his hand before brusquely applying it to Stiles’ knee. Stiles bit off a hiss at the sudden pressure and waited for the chill to settle in.

“Do you think I’ve damaged the ligaments?” Stiles asked when the silence started to press down a little to hard.

Dr. Hale snorted and rose to his feet. “I don’t care.” He crossed the room to what looked like a wet bar, pouring himself a glass of scotch. “Now, can I count on you to never drop by here again or should I just go ahead and move?”

“Oh,” Stiles said glancing around again. “You can’t leave a place with this much warmth. I especially love the shelf filled with personal photos of your friends and family.” Stiles kept his tone purposefully sincere even as Dr. Hale glowered at him only looking briefly at the glass shelves Stiles had gestured to where several blank pieces of modern art rested. Although his stomach was somersaulting Stiles held Dr. Hale’s gaze. If nothing else, he’d just roll out the door if Hale came at him. Or try to.

Surprisingly, Dr. Hale actually looked away first. “Well, you have a point, I suppose,” he said sitting next to Stiles on the couch and extending an arm across the back. The tips of his fingers brushed against Stiles’ shoulder.

Frowning Stiles shifted uncomfortably. “I do?”

“Yeah. I guess watching the game by yourself with a scotch isn’t, really, the only way to watch a game. I don’t know. I just always thought of needing people as a sign of weakness.”

“Oh,” Stiles said relaxing a little. He was more than familiar with the same train of thought, but years of therapy had helped him disembark long ago. “It’s not.”

Dr. Hale smiled, a shockingly warm smile that sent tendrils of heat flaring out through Stiles and coaxed an answering grin. “Then, would you stay and watch the game with me? Maybe have a slice of pizza?”

“Of course,” Stiles said. “Hell yes. I love pizza.”

Dr. Hale continued smiling, but it was going a little cold. “I can braid your hair.”

Stiles blinked. Rolling out the door was starting to look like an appealing option. “Uh.”

“And, I know the couch isn’t very deep,” Dr. Hale continued oblivious or ignoring Stiles’ growing unease, “but we can move the back cushion and spoon.”

Stiles swallowed thickly, leaning away a bit. The tendrils of warmth that had been seeping through him froze. He tried to say something, anything, but the only sound that came out was something strangled and choked off as he all but cowered away from Dr. Hale’s predatory smile and gleam in his eyes.

Just as Stiles was wishing he could fall straight through the floors to somewhere more comfortable, like Hell for example, the door opened again and two people happily walked through, greetings dying on their lips as they took in the sight.

“Well, damn, Derek,” the blonde woman said with a predatory leer that rivaled Dr. Hale’s, “you didn’t tell us you were having a date over.”

The tall dark skinned man next to her didn’t say anything, but the faint look amusement showed clearly he agreed with his companion’s assessment.

“Hey,” Dr. Hale said. “Beer and chips in the kitchen. That means go get them,” he added when the blonde seemed content to just stare at them.

“Touchy, Der,” she said with a gusty sigh grabbing the other man’s hand. “Come on, Boyd. I think he wants some privacy.”

“Just ignore them,” Dr. Hale said as they disappeared into the apartment. “Answer me one question: do you want to be the big spoon or the little spoon?”

“Um,” Stiles said swallowing roughly and trying to think of anything other than spooning with the admittedly attractive man staring at him right now. “Uh.”

Dr. Hale rolled his eyes and leaned back giving Stiles some much needed space to breathe. “Do you know what your problem is, Stiles?”

“You just asked me to spoon?” Stiles squeaked.

“You were going to, what, rescue me from loneliness with a three-dollar six-pack of light beer?” Dr. Hale said ignoring Stiles’ answer. “It turns out, though, that you can’t save people from themselves. We just treat them. You treat that kid for a respiratory problem and when he comes back with cancer you go ahead and treat that too.”

Stiles dropped his gaze to the floor. “Well, thanks for the pick-me-up,” he said bitterly. He was man enough to admit he didn’t know what he was looking for when he came here, was man enough to admit he came more for himself than any altruistic desire to help Dr. Hale, but he was also man enough to disagree with Dr. Hale’s blunt words of so-called wisdom. Within the safety of his own mind of course.

“Look,” Dr. Hale said. “Smokers, alcoholics, drug addicts, whatever. If you keep living and dying on whether or not a person changes? You’re not gonna make it as a doctor. Now get out of my apartment.”

Stiles hauled himself up without a word limping for the door.

“And take this excuse for beer with you,” Dr. Hale said something like disgust coloring his tones.

“Derek! Keep the beer!” the woman called from the other room as Stiles turned back to collect the drinks though he had no idea how she’d heard them. “I’ll drink it!”

“Fine. I’ll keep the beer,” Dr. Hale said making a shooing motion to Stiles. “You beat it.”

* * *

“So, who’s the kid, Derek?” Erica asked as she and Boyd reentered the living room. Derek growled hoping it would be enough to get her to abandon that line of questioning, but being Erica she simply laughed and perched herself on Boyd’s lap with an expectant look. “Oh, no, no, you have to tell us all about that delectable piece of ass that you just kicked out.”

“He’s an intern from the hospital,” Derek said. “And he’s a pain in my ass.”

Erica raised her eyebrows with a shark-like grin. “Oh really?”

Derek scowled. “Not like that.”

“But you wish it was?”

“No,” Derek said and Erica frowned in mock puzzlement.

“ _He_ wishes it was?”

Derek shook his head. “No. Now can we just…watch the game?”

Erica held her hands up in surrender and snuggled deeper into Boyd’s lap. Derek held his breath and was surprised he got several minutes of silence before Erica spoke up again. She never was one to let stuff go, especially when Derek explicitly asked her to. It seemed to be something she literally could not help about herself although occasionally Derek contemplated the fact that maybe she was capable of stopping and just enjoyed annoying him too much.

“So…” she started drawing the word out so long Derek actually had time count to ten to stop himself from all out growling at her. “That was Stiles, wasn’t it?”

“What of it?” Derek muttered slouching in his seat and staring resolutely at the television. The last thing he wanted to get in a discussion with Erica about was Stiles, particularly Stiles in relation to himself.

Erica twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “He’s cute.”

“What’s your point, Erica?”

“Nothing,” she said grinning innocently as she leaned forward to dig a handful of chips from the bag. She reached back to feed a few to Boyd, the two of them sharing a meaningful glance that Derek couldn’t quite decipher. “I just…find it amusing that the intern you talk so much about showed up at your apartment. Tell me, did you maim him on purpose or was it an accident?”

“I don’t talk about Stiles that much,” Derek objected rolling right over Erica’s snort and Boyd’s quiet chuckle. “And, no, I did not purposefully smash his knee. It was an accident, okay? He wasn’t even supposed to be here.”

“Me thinks the man doth protest too much,” Erica sniggered.

“I am not,” Derek said sullenly.

Erica laughed. “Give it up, man, and admit you like the kid.”

“I do not.”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say,” she said breezily.

Derek frowned not for the first time cursing the fact that he ever bit these two idiots. It made it impossible for Derek to try and lie to them, which they, well Erica mostly, took full advantage of nearly all the time. He still wasn’t going to admit anything.

* * *

Scott wouldn’t necessarily consider himself and Lydia friends. Yes, they spent a significant amount of time together and yes he felt vaguely bad for the other girl and the frigid reception she was getting at the hospital. But the truth of the matter was he’d probably never talk to her beyond work if it weren’t for Stiles and his avid fascination with the redhead. That was just a fact with him being surgical and Lydia being medical. Beyond consults they worked in two separate parts of the hospital.

“I’m sick of this,” Lydia was muttering ahead of him probably unaware Scott could even hear her. “It’s like I’m the damn plague around here.”

His heart went out to her, it did, but Scott also privately thought she was at least forty percent responsible for her own position. A part of him admired her for the strength of character that allowed her to burn through the hospital like some avenging angel doing anything and everything she thought was the right thing to do. But the fact remained that the internal workings of a hospital were as much about ability as it was about office politics, and in her warpath through the other interns to prove herself the best Lydia had burned a lot of bridges.

As if noticing or sensing Scott’s thoughts about her, Lydia twisted around glancing back over her shoulder to raise an inquiring eyebrow at him. Scott affected an innocent look, holding his hands up in surrender and found, “Please don’t look at me when you’re talking,” slipping unbidden from his lips. Apparently Stiles’ brain to mouth filter quirks were rubbing off on him. Again.

Lydia opened her mouth as if to retort in spite of Scott’s request, but was cut short when Dr. Argent strode up to her appearing out of nowhere as the man was wont to do.

“Dr. Martin,” he said austerely. “I just wanted to say you’re out of my doghouse. That was a great catch on that patient with meningoccocus.”

Lydia paused, lips pursed thoughtfully, then she drew herself up and said, “Actually, sir, that wasn’t me. Allison noticed the rash on his legs.”

“Well, that’s fascinating,” Dr. Argent said cocking his head slightly to the side with a small smile that was anything but sincere. “You could have fallen back into my good graces, but instead you passed the credit on to a nurse.” He laughed and Lydia arranged her features into an expression of polite interest but remained silent and poised. “How noble. Shall I get the cafeteria staff to write, ‘Was it worth it?’ on a cake for you?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Lydia said. “But thank you, Dr. Argent.”

Dr. Argent smiled again, and waltzed off as abruptly as he’d arrived. Lydia watched him leave for a moment then turned back to Scott. Caught blatantly eavesdropping Scott spun to the right only to find himself face to face with a wall and eyelevel with the Nurses’ Station sign.

“So this is the Nurses’ Station?” Scott asked pointing at it and making a contemplative noise. Lydia rolled her eyes with a huff walking off in the same direction as Argent while Scott headed the other way in search of Allison. He found her on the fourth floor and immediately descended on her in spite of the nerves he could feel building just from being in her presence.

“You are not going to believe what just happened,” he said by way of greeting.

Allison smiled bemusedly. “You finally found your tongue I see.”

“No. Well, yes. I mean—”

“Scott, you’re losing it again.”

“Okay. What I mean to say is I just came from downstairs where Lydia gave you credit for the meningoccocus patient,” Scott said practically beaming and bouncing in place.

Allison looked a bit skeptical. “Really? To who exactly?”

“Argent,” Scott said following after her as she headed down the hallway. “I’m telling you, Argent didn’t even ask, and she just gave you full credit.”

Allison shrugged. “I don’t care. Too little, too late. And you’re not following me around just to say that, are you?”

Scott swallowed, damning her perceptiveness to know he’d been looking for her long before he’d stumbled across Lydia and Argent. “Uh, you know, I was going to say earlier I was busting Stiles’ chops for wanting to be friends with a girl. And, uh, I just want you to know that I find it so amazing how strong you are, and how you carry yourself, and how I would give anything to wake up next to you every morning.” He paused trying to summon any remaining vestiges of courage. “But, instead, I think you should hop down off your high horse for a second, try and remember what it was like when you first started here, and give Lydia a bit of a break. Because she might be a little bit of a know it all and according to Stiles about twenty percent pure evil, but she’s basically a good person. So, yeah, that’s, uh, that’s all I came to say.”

Allison was staring at him, a contemplative tilt to her brows. After a moment it started to really frazzle Scott’s already frazzled nerves so he turned to leave, feeling her stare on his back between his shoulder blades.

“Pick me up at seven.”

The floor tilted beneath him and he tripped over his own feet as he spun back around, mouth hanging open in shock. “Say what now?”

“Tonight,” Allison said with a soft smile. “Pick me up at seven.”

* * *

The next day as Stiles was finishing up charting for his newest patient he was a little surprised to see Allison and Scott walking up hand in hand to the nurses’ station. Not entirely surprised because he did know about the date last night, would have known just from the dopey grin Scott came home with even if he didn’t spend three hours after retelling the date to Stiles in excruciating detail, but a little surprised because it never failed to impress and scare Stiles how quickly Scott could move in relationships. Stiles, for one, wasn’t comfortable with cozy handholding until about date three of something that qualified as a potential long-term relationship.

Something else that surprised Stiles was the way Scott immediately nudged Allison toward Lydia at the counter with a firm, “Go apologize.”

Allison shot him a halfhearted glare.

“Just do it fast,” Stiles suggested check marking the last box and setting it aside in favor of Will’s discharge paperwork. “Spit it out. Like a Band-Aid.”

“Dude,” Scott said. “When have you ever spit out a Band-Aid?”

“More times than you would think,” Stiles replied as Allison rolled her eyes and cleared her throat to gain Lydia’s attention.

“Here,” Allison said and Stiles had to give her credit for only sounding a little stilted. “I wrote out the pharmacy renewals on all your patients.”

“Wow,” Lydia said accepting the papers with a slightly pinched look of confusion. “Thank you, Allison.”

Allison nodded curtly. “You’re welcome.”

Scott grinned, slinging an arm around Allison’s shoulders and drawing her away. “See, now was that so hard?”

Stiles grinned a little to himself as they walked away, Lydia scribbling something down on the chart in her hands before following suit. He made some final needed notes on Will’s discharge forms pen hovering over where he needed to sign as if simply keeping Will there for a day or two more would change the man’s mind. Stiles knew it wouldn’t.

Acceptance was an important part of life at the hospital he was learning. Acceptance of their own shortcomings; like Lydia’s control issues, Allison’s bossiness, Scott’s naiveté, Dr. Hale’s general bitchiness, and Stiles’ ever fluctuating anxiety levels. Acceptance that some things were just going to be what they were going to be; like Will continuing to smoke in spite of the climbing risks of cancer.

As Stiles finalized the paperwork and retrieved Will from his room, pushing the patient down to the entrance in a wheelchair, he thought maybe that was the worst realization he’d had yet.

“This is a strange resort, man,” Will said, voice light and teasing. “I mean, this wheelchair service is great, but that suite I rented…there was another person in it. And for some reason the bellhop gave me an enema.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said unable to muster the grin such a joke merited as they arrived at the door. “He’s new here.”

Will stood, pushing his hands into his pockets as he turned to face Stiles. “So, anything you wanna say?”

Stiles shook his head. “You know it all, man.”

Will nodded, hovering awkwardly a moment before bidding Stiles goodbye and stepping outside. Almost immediately he moved off to the side drawing a cigarette from his pocket and lighting up. Stiles frowned, watching for a moment before tearing his eyes away and forcing himself to walk back to the elevator. He hated Will a bit in that moment. Hated that he made Stiles care about him then threw his life away so casually, and that he was making Stiles consider all the people who were important to him in terms of what would probably kill them.

Heart disease for his dad, a never-ending battle that was nearly as hard fought as the battle with Will. Naive gullibility for Scott, getting caught up in something he probably shouldn’t without Stiles there to get him out. Someone choking Lydia when they got annoyed at her very existence or felt threatened by her capabilities. Himself…he didn’t know. Probably stress. A panic attack maybe. He'd be the first ever case. A medical conundrum. 

“Say anything else to him?” Dr. Hale asked when Stiles made it back to the nurses’ station not even looking at Stiles as he penned his own charts.

Stiles shook his head. “Nope.”

Dr. Hale paused, finally glancing up. “But you wanted to?”

“Yeah, but you told me not to,” Stiles reminded him not a little bitterly.

Dr. Hale flipped his chart shut with a sharp snap. “For fucks sake, Newbie, would you grow a pair? If you can’t stick to your convictions, you’ll never make it as a doctor.”

Stiles swallowed down a scream of frustration squeezing his eyes shut as he leaned against the counter and drug his hands through his hair tugging hard at the strands. He heard Dr. Hale sigh, probably in exasperation, likely in disgust.

“Look, Stiles,” Dr. Hale started leaning against the counter next to Stiles and waiting a moment while Stiles turned look at him. “You can’t let the patients get in here,” he said poking Stiles in the chest. “Especially ones like Will. Otherwise, I promise you, they’ll just end up breaking your heart. It’s what they do.”

Unfortunately,  this time, Stiles thought he might actually be right. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to follow the series or my [tumblr](http://little-red-and-his-wolves.tumblr.com) so you don't miss the super infrequent updates for this series.
> 
> Oh, and if I managed to mangle the single line of Spanish I put in here...just tell me.


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